


Losing All My Innocence

by IWriteSinsNotStraightLines



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Communication, Getting together (kind of), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monster of the Week, establishing a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines/pseuds/IWriteSinsNotStraightLines
Summary: “I thought I told you not to come back here unless you were ready to talk.”He had actually said that, three days ago. It hadn’t been a fight, not really, but close enough to one that dread and fear mixed into a heavy sickness deep in Stiles’ belly. He had snarled them out, frustrated with Peter’s games, with his inability to actually trust him and tell him what he was thinking.He’d been wondering if that was it, if what they had was over, if he’d never see him again.Peter hummed, “Well, I’m back here, aren’t I? But I certainly wasn’t expecting to have this conversation while patching you up, darling.”
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 14
Kudos: 322





	Losing All My Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, everybody? This is my first (probably of many-- I never thought I would ship this but I totally do) Steter fic. Yay! I hope it finds you all in good health and states of mind. 
> 
> The title is from "Body" by Loud Luxury.

“Stop moving, you’ll make it worse.” 

Stiles jumped, hissing when it pulled at the wounds across his back and shoulders, and shifted his focus from patching them up to glaring at Peter, who leaned against the doorframe of his bathroom. 

He- who was looking _way_ too hot and put together for 2AM- crossed his arms and eyed Stiles cooly, his gaze sliding all the way up from his feet to his face. He paused for only a moment on the bloody, wrecked part of his back. 

“Do I even want to know how you got in my house?” 

“Window. Maybe stop leaving it unlocked if you don’t want unexpected visitors.” 

“Fucking werewolves,” Stiles griped under his breath, ignoring Peter’s snicker. 

He went to dab more at the edges of his injury, wanting to get it clean but not having the energy or patience to try to get to the worst of it. 

Peter stopped him, plucking the washcloth from his weak fingers and turning him to face the wall from where he was sitting on top of the closed toilet lid.

“I thought I told you to stop moving,” he said, his grip on the uninjured part of his shoulder surprisingly gentle. 

“I thought I told you not to come back here unless you were ready to talk.” 

He had actually said that, three days ago. It hadn’t been a fight, not really, but close enough to one that dread and fear mixed into a heavy sickness deep in Stiles’ belly. He had snarled them out, frustrated with Peter’s games, with his inability to actually trust him and tell him what he was thinking. 

He’d been wondering if that was it, if what they had was over, if he’d never see him again. 

Peter hummed, “Well, I’m back here, aren’t I? But I certainly wasn’t expecting to have this conversation while patching you up, darling.” 

Stiles could hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice-- not at him, but at whatever it was that hurt him. 

“Neither was I.” He went to scrub a hand over his face, but was stopped by Peter’s hand on his arm, a last minute reminder that moving wasn’t a good idea right now. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” 

He sighed, “It’s not a big deal, Peter.” 

“The amount of blood I’m having to wash off of you begs to differ.” 

With Peter, it was better to just tell the truth. He could near always tell when Stiles was lying, and dealing with _that_ conversation was much harder than the one they would have if he was honest. 

“I was in the preserve,” he began, making a face when he heard Peter sigh. “I know you said not to be out there on my own, but I needed some time to just _think_ , y’know? And I couldn’t do it here.” 

He swallowed, “I was walking on one of the trails— I think the one east of the entrance? I don’t really remember. But I was there, and then this weird flying goblin thing came out of nowhere and attacked me. Shredded my shoulder. I had my knife, not my bat, so I stabbed it. It kinda squawked, and then it flew away. I don’t know if it's still out there or not.” 

Peter didn’t say anything for a minute, just continued to wipe at Stiles’ wounds and steal his pain. 

“I wish you would’ve called me. I would’ve come and gotten you.” He finally told him. 

“I wasn’t— I wasn’t sure if you would want me to. We didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms the other day.” Stiles mumbled. 

“Sweetheart,” Peter’s voice- which normally was even and composed- sounded broken open, rough, emotional. “It doesn’t _matter_ that we had a bit of a spat. It doesn’t _matter_ how we left off. I care about you. I would’ve picked you up, without question.” 

“Oh.” 

Peter huffed, and pressed a kiss to his hair, lingering for a moment to breathe his scent in. 

He fished the gauze out of the first aid kit Stiles had out on the counter, along with a needle and surgical thread. 

Stiles could see him do it from the corner of his eye, and he whined out loud, “ _Stitches_?” 

Peter petted a soothing hand down his arm, “I know you hate them, but you need them for this, Stiles.” He guided him to look back at the wall with a tender hand, and Stiles could hear him rifling around. “Just don’t look, okay, baby?” 

“Okay,” Stiles whispered. 

The initial bite of the needle faded quickly, and his shoulder was left numb. He knew Peter was draining the hurt, even though he couldn’t see the black veins racing up his arm and into his chest. He could picture them perfectly. 

Minutes stretched until he was getting restless, barely refraining from moving around and tapping his fingers. 

“I’m almost done. Stay still.” 

“Almost?” Stiles asked hopefully. 

“Only a couple more, darling.” 

He forced himself to wait patiently until Peter was finished, sagging when he felt his shoulder being wrapped up neatly with gauze. 

Peter moved to the sink to rinse out the washcloth, wringing it out until the droplets coming off of it were clear, and no longer a pinkish brown. He caught Stiles’ jaw, framing his face with one broad palm, and began to clean his face. When he was done there, he wiped off his neck, his arms. 

Stiles let him without complaint, exhaustion finally sinking it. He didn’t want to let himself fall asleep though, not yet. 

“Are we gonna talk?” he asked, voice rough. 

Peter led him to sit on his bed, gently wrapping a blanket around his bare shoulders. He pulled Stiles’ desk chair out and sat across from him, giving him his full attention. 

“We can now. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” 

“I just-” he struggled for a moment, but Peter let him take his time. “What am I to you, Peter? Am I your boyfriend? Your booty call?” His voice cracked. “Are we- are we even friends? Or am I just convenient?” 

Peter sighed, “I forget how low you think of yourself sometimes.” 

Stiles bristled, angry and sharp, “I do _not_ \--” 

“If you didn’t, sweet boy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

He deflated, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. 

Peter frowned, “I’m not with you because I think you’re easy, Stiles. I’m not with you because it’s _convenient_. At the very least, _yes_ , we’re friends. Packmates. Allies. _I care about you_. Without a plan. Without ulterior motives. Without some plot to taint you and turn you against your friends, like Scott thinks.” A ghost of a smile passed over his face. “I care about you for _you_ , darling. But what we are isn’t just my decision. A relationship takes two people. It’s half your choice too.” 

Stiles stalled a bit at that. “So- so if I wanted to be boyfriends, or like partners, whatever you would want to call a romantic relationship. If I wanted that, what would you say?” 

Peter did smile this time, small and fond, “Well, I would say let me take you to dinner first.” 

“You’ve taken me to dinner before, creeper,” he pointed out, making grabby hands at Peter. 

He got up, put the chair back and stepped in between Stiles’ knees, cupping his jaw. He leaned forward and nuzzled at his hair before tilting his head up further and claiming his mouth. 

Peter kissed like he lived, Stiles thought-- dominant, calculating, controlled. Every swipe of the tongue, every nip of teeth at his bottom lip felt like it was carried out specifically to undo him. 

He whined when Peter pulled away, looking up at him with big, brown, doe eyes. 

Peter smirked a little, kissing him once more before moving back completely, “It’s a compliment that you want me so bad, sweetheart, but we’re not taking this any further with your shoulder. You can wait.” 

Stiles pouted, because _rude_ , but also knew logically that he’d probably regret it later when their shenanigans tore his sutures. 

“Fine. But you’re staying over. My dad is working nights this week.” 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed it :) Feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> Until next time,  
> -Sins 
> 
> Find my Tumblr at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iwritesinsnotstraightlines


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